


shrapnel is shrapnel

by cateliot



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Bahrain, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Heartbreak, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Strike Team Delta, Unrequited Love, set between seasons 2 and 3, sorry for this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-28
Updated: 2018-05-28
Packaged: 2019-05-15 01:31:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14781089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cateliot/pseuds/cateliot
Summary: If Clint got her laughter and Natasha got the red in her ledger, Andrew got her heart. But that only left her soul and Phil never wanted to take that. Until she gave it all to the little girl in the desert and he never got it back again. (All Phil wants is to bring May home after her vacation.)





	shrapnel is shrapnel

_**title from gif by agentromanoffsir** _

 

He felt bile at the back of his throat as he watched her board a helicopter in the middle of the navy base.  She carried nothing but a military backpack, black and shadowy against her old leather jacket.  He always liked that jacket.

His phone felt heavy in his one good hand as he turned off the screen.  He couldn’t track the helicopter through the desert and she knew that.  She knew that and that was why she was using it to move to her next location.

He didn’t want to take her away. 

He just wanted to bring her home.

 

“Have you heard from her?”

The briefing on the inhuman task force had ended several minutes ago, but still Skye— _Daisy_ —hadn’t moved from in front of his desk.  She looked so different from the girl that had stepped out of the van and onto their plane.  And every time he went to say her name, he missed the little pieces of bright Skye and the memories of her and May training in the basement were now somehow tainted by what had gone down in Afterlife.

“Her?”

Her mouth dipped down into a frown at his choice of question and the way his voice cracked at the word.

“May.”

 

_Put it down May._

 

He swallowed.

“No.”

Daisy frowned again but left.

 

He had erased the email several times, just to write it again and delete it.  The blinking light seemed to mock him as he tried slowly tapping the computer one stroke at a time.

**Phillip J. Coulson**[ **zombiecap@starkindustries.com**](mailto:zombiecap@starkindustries.com) **to Melinda Q. May**[ **mmay@starkindustries.com**](mailto:mmay@starkindustries.com) 1:42AM June 4, 2013

May,

Hey.  I know we didn’t leave off things very well.  I want to make it up to you…at length.  Just, let us know you’re okay.

-C

 

He cornered Andrew after a session with Jemma who scampered out quickly after nodding a quick hello to him.  The psychologist was standing near the set of leather chairs in the corner with a stack of folders and two coffee mugs full of cold, long forgotten tea.

Coulson needed to clear his throat twice to get it to work.

“I need to speak with her.”

Andrew didn’t look shocked by the statement and continued to efficiently and quietly pack up his stacks of papers. 

“Then I suggest you call her.”

“She’s not accepting my calls.  You know that.”

“Then wait for her to reach out.”

Annoyance at his less than concerned behavior filled him. 

“I can’t find her anywhere.  She’s not on the radar.  She’s ditched all the trackers we managed to place and went underground.  I think something’s wrong.”

This made Garner’s hands pause on his briefcase.

“She’s not in trouble.  She’s working through things.”

Somehow those words didn’t sound trite coming from him mouth, but Coulson had heard it all before.  He moved to agitatedly pace, arm uselessly bound at his side making him feel unbalanced in more ways than one.

“The last time she went off the grid to ‘work through things’, she tried to slit her wrists.” 

His words were choked and the fluorescent lights in the room were too much for his headache to handle.  He could feel the pressure building up at the base of his neck and under his eyes. 

“We’re supposed to be a team.”

Andrew turned to face him, eyes intent and dark on his face.

“We’re not a team anymore, Phil.  I’m not her husband and you’re not her partner.  Let her go.”

_“You’re early.  This is **my** time.”_

_“Take care of her out there.”_

_“She’s the one who's supposed to be keeping me safe.”_

 

The words felt bitter in the back of his throat and he left without a sound.

 

He kept calling and she kept ignoring and after a few weeks, the phone stopped ringing and was disconnected.  He felt like the strings in his chest were cut and what was severed was so heavy that he was empty inside.

 

 **Maria Hill**[ **hillmaria@starkindustries.com**](mailto:hillmaria@starkindustries.com) **to Phillip J. Coulson**[ **zombiecap@starkindustries.com**](mailto:zombiecap@starkindustries.com) **3:30PM July 15, 2013**

Stop calling.  She doesn’t want to talk to you.  Give her some space, chief.

 

**_Disclaimer:  he didn’t._ **

 

**SHIELD SECURE SERVER: DELTA STRIKE 422**

000-100-976: I’m worried about May.  Have you been in contact lately?

000-126-035: u don’t need 2 be worried about our girl, boss.

000-100-976:  you’ve seen her.

000-126-035:  lotta the old gang has

000-100-976:  I’m worried.

000-126-035:  this isn’t like b4.  we got her six.  she’ll come back 2 u.

000-100-976:  not this time.

000-126-035:  she always does

 

He didn’t bother sending messages through the wires for Romanova.  She knew he was looking for May.  And he knew that she knew.  In the divorce that happened when he was unhappy that May was leaving the field, Natasha was the only one that sided with Maria and her approval of May’s transfer request. 

Something in their shared sense of violence and their ledgers forged a bond that Phil could never hope to imitate.

But he missed the accountability of the strike team and the safety netting that came with it.  They had all been inseparable back then.  With Nick and Maria on their outskirts, he never felt truly alone with Melinda, and Clint, and Natasha. 

 

_I'm not going back in the field._

 

They somehow were all able to share her so flawlessly in the old days where now it was like he barely got crumbs of in the base anymore.  Their system had been sound and regimented.  It had worked and worked well until it didn’t.

If Clint got her laughter and Natasha got the red in her ledger, Andrew got her heart.  Fury and S.H.I.E.L.D. got her hands, her skill set.  She gave everything up willing up—to them, to S.H.I.E.L.D., to him.  But that only left her soul and Phil never wanted to take that. 

Until she gave it all to the little girl in the desert and he never got it back again.

 

Six months later there was a package sitting on his desk.  The plain paper wrapping spoke nothing of its origin and if he were smart and like his mentor he would call for Simmons, for security, for anyone, to have them scan for threats and danger. 

(Fury was a suspicious son of a bitch like that, but it was what kept him alive.)

Coulson wasn’t like that and he knew who sent it.

There was only one woman—one agent—good enough to get into the base without tripping any of the alarms, without being seen or detected.

He slit the side of the manila envelope open with a pair of scissors and pulled out the folded stack of paper.  It was older stock administration paper from S.H.I.E.L.D. back in the day.  Ugly and thick.  With big messy type that Phil found to be not at all effective for long readings.

The top read **TRANSFER REQUEST**.

And he immediately recognized this as the paperwork that ruined their lives.

Phil made it to the trash can before the black coffee with a single sugar he had had that morning came back up.  Inside was a copy of the administration transfer paperwork that May had submitted to Hill months that they returned to the desert.  He eventually heard about it through the gossip grapevine--of course not from his best friend--she had gone silent by then.  

And he hated it.  Hated it then.  Hated staring down at it now.

His one good hand crumpled the edge of it as he stared down at the only message his partner had sent in months.

Underneath the big APPROVED stamp and Maria's signature was May’s messy, cramped handwriting and four words.

 

 

_Let the girl go._


End file.
